Diva Las Vegas (Book 1 in Raven McShane Series) by Caroline Dries, Steve Dries Page B

Anyway, he’s a Mormon, and like I said, he’s kind of shy.”
    “So the answer is, ‘no, you’re not getting any.’”  Rachel made a face.
    “Not exactly.  After a couple of drinks, Mike turned into a beast.”
    “I thought Mormons don’t drink,” she said.
    “Just like Catholics never miss church on Sundays.”
    “So you got him drunk?”  She pretended to be shocked.
    “It was worth it,” I said.  “And the guy’s like thirty-five.  He’s a big boy.  A very big boy, actually.”  An X-rated image of a dripping wet naked Mike popped into my head.
    She raised her eyebrows.  “So are you guys an item?”
    “An item?  Who says that anymore?”  I chuckled.  “No, I doubt it.  He didn’t even kiss me goodbye when I dropped him off at home.”
    “Wow,” she said.  We sat in silence for a minute.  “So how drunk did you get this poor young man?”
    I thought about it for a second.  “He was pretty tanked, I guess.  Why?”
    “Well, are you sure he remembers sleeping with you?  That happened to me once when I was in college.  Guy got me drunk and apparently we had a lot of fun that I will never remember.  He was offended when I barely said ‘hi’ to him the next day.”
    “That only happened once ?”
    She shot me a dirty look.
    “I suppose it’s possible,” I said.  “Mike never mentioned it today and he acted almost like nothing had happened.”  That would explain a lot, I thought.  I poured off the rest of the bottle right before our Happy Family special arrived.  It made us very happy indeed, but we both developed a food coma and passed out watching a Lifetime movie.

Chapter 11
     
     
    The morning news said we had finally been granted a reprieve from the weather, with high temperatures only expected to reach the low 90's.  The downside was that I had no more excuses for avoiding my daily jog.  I toughed it up and got my jogging clothes on.  I ran west from my apartment, away from the Strip into a maze of strip malls, warehouses and the occasional pawn shop.  The first half of the jog was a blissful escape.  I thought about everything and nothing at the same time.  But reality hit me when I turned to head back.  I was nowhere in this case.  I had learned almost nothing about the Outpost casino except that its head of security was an asshole with sharp fingernails.  The only lead I had was what Mel Block had told me at the Del Mar racetrack, but how was I supposed to learn anything about a skim operation if I couldn’t even get inside the place? 
    Rachel said it might be worth talking with Amy Masterson, her former sister-in-law.  I had poured cold water on that idea.  It didn’t take a genius to guess that Amy wouldn’t be in any kind of a mood to help anyone trying to prove her husband was a murderer.  And I would be willing to bet that word had already gotten out that I had been sniffing around about Cody Masterson. 
    As I cooled down from my jog, a growing temptation was building in me to pawn the problem off on Mike.  He had tried to look busy earlier in the week, but I could tell he wasn’t exactly swamped in his own work.  It was the dead of summer, and a lot of the insurance people he worked for were probably on vacation.  Plus, it might give me an opportunity to get him drunk again.
    I showered quickly and hit the internet.  I had no idea where a jet-set couple like Amy and Cody Masterson might live—a palatial suburban mansion?  Lake Las Vegas?  A penthouse condo on the Strip?  I guessed that they were not listed in the phonebook, and I was right.  The two were hardly a publicity-shy couple, though, so I figured their home would have been in the newspaper at some point.
    I searched the Review-Journal ’s website for any stories mentioning their house.  Nada.  The Mastersons hadn’t hosted any charity galas or political fundraisers, apparently.  I decided I might as well pay for the information.  Rachel hadn’t said anything